


if the sun grows cold for you along the way

by Tiara_of_Sapphires



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Historical Inaccuracy, POV Alternating, POV Daphne Bridgerton, POV Simon Basset, Panic Attacks, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29094477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiara_of_Sapphires/pseuds/Tiara_of_Sapphires
Summary: “Simon? No, Simon is far away from me.”What would happen if the Trowbridge ball ended not with a tryst in the garden, but with Daphne becoming seriously ill?Episode 4 AU
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 266





	1. And I won't suppose to know why you walked away

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my 1am fever dream. Basically, if Episode 4 took a hard left turn.
> 
> [Yet another title lifted from Starset, this time "Die For You". Another angsty but also hopeful song that I think works for Daphne/Simon and all your other various shippy needs.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJxSNbAer9M&ab_channel=starsetonline)  
> Enjoy!

Daphne hadn’t slept much in the days leading up to the Trowbridge Ball.

Her dreams had been filled with shadows, white-hot caresses, and long wedding aisles without an endpoint. She wanted none of it, even the dreams that returned Simon into her arms. So, she had taken to reading and staring at the ceiling until the dawn arrived.

She hadn’t eaten much either, not when her appetite had turned to dust. That was hard to hide with multiple pairs of eyes watching her at dinner, but she could always manage to look like she was eating and make her plates look like she had eaten enough to avoid raising suspicion with the servants.

Rose had expressed her concern as she applied makeup to Daphne’s face to hide the shadows around her eyes and the pallor in her cheeks.

The evening of the Trowbridge hall found her choking back tears as she pulled the blind off of her mother’s eyes. If Simon had given her this necklace, she would have worn it with pride and not dread in the implications. The prince had staked his claim; all he needed to do was ask the question.

It didn’t matter what happened or what didn’t happen between her and Simon. Her mother needed to accept it just as she did.

Daphne fell into the role of the darling debutante, dancing and smiling prettily at Prince Friedrich as he tried to speak to her. The prince was going to ask for her hand. He had made his intentions clear that he wanted to marry her.

Every moment that passed brought her closer to him asking the question. As soon as she would allow a pause, he would ask and she would have no recourse but to accept. She wore the necklace, all but announcing her intentions to the world.

Daphne ran before he even had the chance to finish a full sentence, stumbling into the night air.

She pried the necklace off of her neck and gasped for breath. Her mother had been right; she didn't really like the necklace much and it wasn’t looking like she was going to start liking it any time soon. All she did was trade a lie for a collar. She preferred the pretty lie she had told herself for weeks that had crumpled to ashes with a few curt words that sounded as if recited from a script.

None of it was real, until it became real for her. It only took Simon telling her that it meant nothing, if not in that many words, for her to realize.

“Idiot,” she breathed, still struggling to catch her breath. The cool evening air did little to soothe her heated skin, but maybe in a few minutes or a few years she would be able to collect herself and finish what she had set out to do.

“Miss Bridgerton.”

A shiver ran through her at the voice.

Oh, God. Was she going mad? She must be going mad, hearing the voice of a man who, if rumors were correct, should be on a ship departing London forever.

“Miss Bridgerton,” the voice repeated, a question hanging off the last syllable, as if the speaker was worried that she didn’t hear him.

She sucked in a shaky breath and turned to see Simon in all of his taciturn glory. Normally, his appearance would fill her with emotions that she didn’t dare name, warm and fluttering in her stomach. He even wore the same sort of outfit he would wear to all of the balls before this one, as if nothing had changed and the ruse still spun on.

All she could feel was anger in tandem with the sorrow that had burrowed its way into her chest ever since Simon had so coldly dismissed her. She had been a fool to allow herself to get so close to a man who would never return her affection.

She was a distraction, nothing serious to him. If then, why return? Why was he here, if not to cause her more pain, to insult her further?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, forcing all of the politeness into her voice as she possibly could. He called her desperate, once upon a time. She would not allow him to see such folly again. “I thought you were leaving London.”

“I was. I am. I came to say goodbye,” he said stiffly.

“To whom?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.

His voice softened with, dare she say, affection? “To you, D—Miss Bridgerton.”

She thanked the heavens that he did not use her given name. Her resolve would have cracked even further to expose herself to more ridicule from him. Instead, it served to inflame her further.

A goodbye, indeed. What an infuriating man.

“You return as if I was still the fool that you left behind at the ice shop,” she spat. “We are not friends. We never were friends, as you made abundantly clear.”

Even as angry as she was, she could help the hurt that crackled through her voice like splintering ice. How she wept for this man, only for him to return as if nothing had happened.

He winced as his words were thrown back in his face. “And I am sorry for that.”

“Please do not apologize,” she said. She wanted him gone and in the same breath she wanted him to beg for forgiveness. “I shall not be led once more by you from this direction to that. You are my friend; you are not my friend. You are a rake; you are not a rake. You are sorry—

“I _am_ sorry,” he cut in.

He looked sorry, even sorrowful, as he stood so remote from her.

“That is very well, but you should know that your apology has absolutely no effect on my life nor does your leaving London,” Daphne said with a polite smile, stepping closer to Simon. She wanted to be cold and cutting and uncaring. The fact that she could approach the man without wavering was a victory in itself. He had no power over her and the pride of it made her lightheaded. “I am marrying the prince and I shall be very happy, indeed.”

She would get over her nerves. She would put that necklace around her neck, march back in to the main hall, and let Prince Friedrich ask for her hand. She would accept it, and it would all be over.

Simon was still and silent.

“Will you be? Happy?” he finally said.

Daphne recoiled, stomach dropping. He might as well have slapped her across the face. He had told her that she would be happy with the prince, and now he went back on his word?

“Why would I not be? Prince Friedrich is kind and adoring, and he knows what he wants.” _Unlike you._ The unsaid words passed between them.

“And you truly believe him to be the best man for you?”

The sudden rage she felt almost made her sick. “How dare you question my choices? They are my choices to make, not yours! I do not question your choice to rake across the continent, forlorn and alone.”

He stiffened visibly at her words, nostrils flaring, and it felt like a victory. He could read her like a book, but she knew him too. She may be desperate for a husband, but he was _lonely_.

It was clear the heavens would not allow it for them to be lonely together.

“I don’t own you an explanation. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Daphne—

He was too close. How did she let herself get so close to him?

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She backed away from him with legs that felt more liquid than solid.

She wanted to fling the beautiful, stupid necklace at his head. She wanted it to hit him hard enough to cut, just so he could hurt as much as she did. It served him right. _He_ was the one who set them down this path. _He_ was the one who ended the charade that was so perfect that she had tricked herself into thinking it was anything but a charade.

Did he expect her to mourn his loss, allowing the prospect of marriage to the man he had insisted she would be perfectly happy with to slip away?

“You do not get to do this to me. After everything…” she trailed off and bit the inside of her cheek. She felt warm and horribly dizzy. That ‘everything’ had meant nothing. She kept forgetting that. It was hard to remember that none of the fleeting touches and the conspiring and the laughter meant anything when the world seemed to spin under her feet and Simon’s eyes pinned her in place like a butterfly to a corkboard.

“Do you wish to take my happiness from me once more?” she whispered. Every word hurt as they escaped her mouth. “What other reason could you have of coming here?”

Something soft but surely imagined passed over Simon’s face, the same expression he would make when he thought she wasn’t looking, the same expression that tricked her into believing that maybe he thought of her in the same way she thought of him. It sucked her in, when the ground felt like it was tilting.

“Are you going to say anything?” she muttered.

He opened his mouth and shut it again. A man so eloquent couldn’t give her an answer; she would sneer at him if she were a crueler woman.

“Daph?”

She turned her head to see Anthony in the doorway of the main hall. Light poured out behind him, sending flares of pain behind her eyes.

Anthony, the ruiner of all things, but she couldn’t help but be grateful for him. Someone had to step between them and end this madness. She was going to marry the prince, even as she wanted nothing more to continue the beautiful, painful ruse with Simon until her heart gave out.

“Hastings? What are you doing here?”

Simon tore his eyes away from her and it was if she had come untethered.

“Bridgerton, my apologies. I simply—”

The men’s stiff civilities on Daphne’s deaf ears as the darkness felt cloyingly thick around her eyes and the light too bright. Pain flashed through her as her hands and knees slapped hard against the stone, but it was a distant, far away thing.

Someone was grabbing at her. Someone was yelling in her ear. She supposed it didn’t matter.

Perhaps, this was all a terrible hallucination.

Simon was surely gone, sailing on his ship far, far away from her.


	2. the wars that I wage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii all! Thank you for your patience! I haven't abandoned this fic, I just had many projects and fandoms to juggle, on top of a 5-day a week job that sucks a lot of my energy. I will be updating in due time, but I am not abandoning this idea!
> 
> Thank you for all the love you have shown thus far! It really brings a smile to my face
> 
> Enjoy!

Perhaps it was the will of God that brought him to the Trowbridge Ball, that the painting that had sat waiting to be packed was faced so he could see it and be reminded of his folly.

‘Love conquers all’, Lady Danbury had said. He didn’t want to believe her and, as he stood before Daphne, it seemed clearer by the moment that she was wrong.

At the ice shop, each word had come out exactly as he wanted to. He had rehearsed it, over and over, so he wouldn’t say the wrong thing and incriminate himself. It had been for her own good; he told himself that, over and over again. Each word was calculated, meant to sever whatever feeling of connection and good will that they had for each other. He hated himself for doing it, even more for taking the smile that he liked to think was only for him and turning it to stricken confusion, but it was for her own good.

Now, words escaped him as Daphne threw his previous cruelty back in his face. Her shock at the ice shop had disappeared, leaving all the emotions that he was sure Daphne had harbored but was unable to express in the moment, not when they had been in public. She looked at him as if he were a merely a stranger who had trodden on her foot, an obstacle and an inconvenience to be immediately dismissed.

Even then, in her rage and disgust at his appearance, she looked so beautiful under the lamplight, a vision in white that ought to be on his arm, no one else’s. Still, she looked tired and drawn as they traded words. Stress over her upcoming engagement, not because of him.

God, the engagement. It hung over his head like a guillotine’s blade. The usurper prince would be able to give Daphne everything she desired, something that Simon didn’t have the will or bravery to do.

His father’s hatred and coldness shackled him. All he could do was tear at the infatuation between her and the prince, unable to tell her how he really felt. He wanted to be the one by her side, her arm in his. He wanted the smiles she had so willingly bestowed on the prince during the boxing match for him alone.

He couldn’t say it, his words trapped in his mouth. Her backlash was swift, all the righteous anger that could be expected from Daphne Bridgerton. He could feel himself falling in love a little bit more, even as she drifted further and further away from him.

“Are you going to say anything?” Daphne sighed, visibly deflating. There wasn’t anger in her voice anymore, just exasperation and disappointment.

He had stood unwilling to defend himself from the accusations she levied against him. His mouth flapped open, unable to form the words that would make her smile again.

_Blithering idiot. Imbecile. Why don’t you speak?_

He wasn’t worthy of her. He didn't know what to say. If could only collect his wits, he would know that the only option was to leave.

“Daph?”

A sudden rage threatened to choke him. God, he never hated Anthony Bridgerton more than he did in that moment.

“Hastings? What are you doing here?”

Simon turned to him, seeing the suspicion and confusion plain on the elder Bridgerton’s face. He nodded with as much respect as he could conjure. “Bridgerton, my apologies. I simply—”

Whatever he planned to say to excuse himself evaporated on his tongue as movement caught the corner of his eye.

Daphne gasped for breath, a horrible, rattling sound, swaying like a young tree in a merciless gale before tipping forward.

Anthony sprinted from the doorway. “Sister!”

Simon lunged forward, yelling out her name as he reached for her.

Too late, as Daphne hit the ground on her hands and knees. Distantly, Simon was grateful that she didn't fall backwards and strike her head. Distantly, he cursed himself for not being fast enough to keep her from hurting herself.

Simon reached her first, but Anthony almost shoved him out of the way, protective brotherly instinct overruling any attempt at manners. He wrapped his arms across Daphne’s shoulders, keeping her from fully collapsing. Simon was on her other side, touching her upper arm and he could feel her shaking.

Anthony glared at him accusingly for a moment and Simon stared back, slack-jawed in horror. They both knew that Simon did nothing to cause this condition.

“Daphne, come on,” Anthony muttered.

He turned her onto her back, laying her across his lap.

Daphne’s eyes stared glassy and unseeing before flickering shut. In the lantern light, there was a blush high on her cheeks. Anthony pressed a hand to her forehead and hissed.

“She’s burning up,” he whispered. “God how did we not see that she was ill?”

Simon staggered to his feet. He couldn’t hear Daphne’s ragged breathing. It was like a physical blow, hearing her struggle like that.

“A doctor,” Simon muttered uselessly into the air. “I’ll get a doctor.”

His feet moved him forward, wooden like a doll, to the gathering hall. The sounds of merriment grated on his nerves. It was obscene to hear, when it felt like his entire world was collapsing around him.

He probably looked mad, blinking at the too-bright lights and dozens of startled faces.

“A doctor! I need a doctor outside, immediately. Miss Daphne Bridgerton—”

All he got was slack jaws and wide eyes, no action. Rage bubbled up and he wanted to put his fist through something.

“A doctor! A doctor, dammit!” he shouted.

That seemed to spur at least some action from the people in the hall, calls spreading for a doctor in attendance. The damned prince in his earnest concern, pushed past him. The better man, but Simon knew that he wouldn’t have been able to catch Daphne either, so they were equal in that regard.

People moved around him: the hostess, Lady and Colin Bridgerton, servants. He could feel eyes on him, the lords and ladies in attendance. He knew, he knew that Lady Whistledown would note his presence, his reactions, conjuring up a story that could incriminate him and potentially ruin Daphne.

He had to leave.

Simon left the way he came. He couldn't see Daphne beyond the crush of people, but there were murmurs of moving her, bringing her back to the Bridgerton house. He wanted to stop to see how she was, but he forced himself to keep walking. This wasn’t his place anymore. She was being tended to, by her family and her prince. He would check later, when there weren’t so many eyes on them.

Perhaps this was God’s way of punishing him continuing this charade for so long. He should be by her side as her betrothed, tending to her as he so wanted to do. He loved her more than any person he had ever known, but he knew he would never be good enough.

He cursed his father’s name, the taint and shade that he placed over his life even after death, as he returned to his horse.

* * *

Simon made haste to Will Mondrich’s boxing ring, finding the spare key with ease and letting himself inside. The evening air had been bracing as he rode through the city, but he still wanted to climb out of his own skin.

She fell, and he couldn’t catch her. He couldn’t manage to get the words out that he meant to say.

He needed a drink. God, he needed a dozen drinks. Maybe if he drank enough, it would somehow undo the night’s events. He would be on his ship and Daphne would be happily on her way to her engagement to the prince.

With unsteady hands, he rifled through the cabinets, looking for anything alcoholic.

Had she been happy with her upcoming engagement to Prince Friedrich? She hadn’t looked very happy before he caught her attention, but she was harboring an illness, so there was some excuse for her to not be in good spirits.

What did she mean when she accused Simon of taking away her happiness _again_? When was the first time? Surely, she didn't mean their discussion at the ice shop? Was breaking off their arrangement taking away her happiness? Had he mattered as much to her, as she did to him?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening, but he didn't turn away from the cabinet he was rummaging through.

“What are you doing?” Will demanded.

Simon grunted as a way of greeting. He wasn’t finding much of anything. Strange, he was sure that Will had kept his alcohol in that particular spot.

“I find myself in rather desperate need of a drink,” he said, hoping that would be enough of an explanation to make Will go away.

“And this was the only place you could think to find one?”

It was a fair question, one that owed an answer. Simon could have gone to any pub in London to get drunk, but even in his state he knew that it would only create unnecessary gossip, especially since everyone knew he was meant to be leaving London. It was better to drink either alone or with whoever one trusted, and Simon did not want to be alone.

God, he didn’t want to be alone.

Whatever expression fell on Simon’s face as he stood to face Will must have signaled something, and Will gestured for him to move out of the way. Simon obliged, leaning heavily against the table.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a ship by now?” Will asked offhandedly.

He replied flatly, “Change of plans.”

Will set a bottle and two glasses on the table with a scathing glare. “For brandy this good, you need to actually tell me what’s going on.”

He wasn't getting around this, was he? Simon’s throat worked around the words as the silence drew out between them.

“Miss Bridgerton has fallen ill,” he finally managed to say. “I don’t know how seriously.”

Understanding crossed over Will’s face, as if those words explained everything, which Simon didn’t particularly like. Did everyone in London have some sort of insight of the emotions roiling through him right now? Would the thrice-damned, omniscient Lady Whistledown give a full report in the morning of the conflicted Duke of Hastings, dragging himself over cobblestone only to not even manage to ask for Daphne Bridgerton’s hand?

It wouldn’t be an entirely inaccurate account, but he hated the idea of being so transparent.

Will poured two glasses and handed one to Simon.

“I did not realize that you were keeping such close watch on her,” Will said, taking a sip of his drink.

Simon grunted. Will could have simply asked a pointed question like ‘how do you know’ or ‘why do you care’, but he seemed perfectly content with waiting for Simon to offer up information on his own.

“I was there when she collapsed,” Simon muttered. “I did not even have the wits about me to make sure she did not hurt her hands as she fell to the ground.”

Daphne wouldn’t be one to hold his failure against him. She was too good, too virtuous for that. Or, perhaps she would count that in the list of his many offenses against her, since his appearance had only added injury to insult. He was a broken man before he approached her; what was a few more cracks?

He knocked back his glass and filled it again. The sooner he was drunk, the better.

“I see,” Will muttered, taking a sip from his own glass.

Simon laughed without any humor.

No, he didn’t see at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon, you dingus.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, especially in these stressful times! Keeps me going :P
> 
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> dun dun dun!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!!!


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